


heat and humidity

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: I wrote it for myself for my birthday like literally it's just cute, M/M, also bones is trans, it's cute, it's not a plot point or anything but it's there because it's my fave headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: A soft, soft picture of the triumvirate on shore leave. Jim and Spock are in love; they just have to let Bones know.





	heat and humidity

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for myself for my birthday so, uh? my prime mcspirk dynamic: jim and spock are helplessly in love with bones, who doesn't quite understand

Jim lets Bones and Spock pull ahead of him, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches them.

Spock- hands clasped behind his back and torso turned, just slightly, towards the doctor- notes and dismisses his captain's withdrawal with a single flick of dark, expressive eyes, but Bones is too caught up in the story he's telling. He gestures broadly with his hands and continually gains momentum, his speed and volume increasing with every bouncing step.

He'd started the tale- an old med school epic that Jim knows ends with Bones in matching white-with-red-hearts binder and boxers on the steps of the library, drunk off his ass and singing "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" with his similarly-drunk lab partner- in the interest of proving to Spock that weeks of stress with no chance to vent lead to poor decision making, but Jim's pretty sure Bones has long since forgotten the point he was trying to make. Spock seems uninterested in reminding him, preferring to listen with an air of faint bemusement (and distinctly less faint indulgence).

Bones's good mood can be traced back to the morning's news; the landing party (for once comprising none of the senior crew but Lieutenant Sulu) had reported that the planet they're currently orbiting is well-suited for shore leave, assuming no one minded a little heat and humidity.

The good doctor had perked immediately. "A bit of sun and some air that's not dried out from being recycled a thousand times over sounds perfect," he'd declared. Jim had been less convinced, but he wasn't going to begrudge his crew shore leave after months stuck aboard the ship, and so Spock had been the one to protest.

(Jim is sure, if Bones stops to think about Vulcan's desert climate, that he'll realize Spock has no more complaint about the heat than he himself does. But any excuse to argue with Spock is a good excuse, in Bones's book, so he had launched himself into the debate without that second thought.)

Bones barks a laugh at the look on Spock's face- a subtle version of "What the hell were you thinking?"- after he finally describes the scene on the library steps. He claps a hand to the Vulcan's shoulder (physicality accepted without comment or complaint) and finishes his story with a joking, "That's why we need shore leave, Mr. Spock; no one on this ship wants to see me running around shirtless."

He finally seems to notice Jim's absence and draws to a stop, turning back to face him with one eyebrow raised in question. Spock stops as well, just a step further down the hall than Bones, and Jim meets his gaze over Bones's head. He knows without having to ask that Spock is thinking the same thing he is.

"If you say so, Dr. McCoy," Jim teases, opting for a flirty enough refutation that it can be interpreted as a joke.

And so Bones does, with a roll of his eyes and a heatless grouse of "Incorrigible."

"Your statement is doubly incorrect, in that it is also built on the implicit assumption that you would allow yourself to become drunken to the point of public nudity while on duty," Spock adds.

Bones looks conflicted between his desire to argue (or at least complain that Spock always takes things too literally) and the instinct to express thanks for the compliment on his work ethic (however roundabout). In the end, the other part of Spock's statement registers before he can come to a consensus, and he rounds on Spock with a flabbergasted, "'Doubly incorrect?!?' What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jim breaks into a grin as Spock raises an eyebrow. "We are expected in the transporter room,” he points out calmly, and gently pushes Bones’s accusatory finger out of his face.

"Now, dammit, that is not an answer—"

"Bones," Jim insists, voice like honey, and wraps a hand around his CMO's elbow to guide him gently into movement. "Just take the compliment."

“I hate both of you,” Bones grumbles.

***

There are three places where Bones is most in his element.

The first, obviously, is his medbay, and by extension anywhere else his medical skills become necessary. He moves through diagnosis, research, and surgery with the calm self-assurance born of years of experience. (Jim, in all honesty, cannot picture Bones any younger than when they’d first met--Leonard McCoy, no MD, no PhD, no tried and true confidence in his abilities, is practically anathema to his very understanding of reality.)

The second, just as obvious to those who know the heart of gold beneath his prickly exterior, is with his daughter. They exchange communications nearly everyday, short commentaries on the day to day, and vidcall each other every time the _Enterprise_ is close enough to Earth. Bones listens raptly to every pre-teen tale of woe or jubilation, offering advice and pithy commentary as appropriate, and it’s clear from the wistful smiles on their faces just how much they adore each other.

The third- unknown to Jim until precisely this moment, though perhaps if he were better able to picture a young Bones he could have guessed- is shin deep in the liquid of a silty, pale pink lake, uniform pants rolled up to his knees and boots discarded on the shore. His hands are on his hips, eyes closed and face tilted to the beaming suns, and Jim can practically see the stress melting off of him as he breathes in deep.

“Not quite a Georgian summer day,” he proclaims, “but it’ll do.” He sways slightly, his grin a whispy little thing in partial profile. “It’ll do.”

“If only we had some sweet tea,” Jim comments, half-joking, half-wishing. It truly _is_ gorgeous on this planet, though he can already feel himself starting to sweat under the merciless gaze of the binary stars it orbits. He imagines a cool beverage would be particularly refreshing.

Spock has wandered off (though he would no doubt protest such a characterization of his methodical progression from flora to flora) by a dozen or so meters, tricorder whirring. When he first pulled it out, Bones had rolled his eyes and muttered goodnaturedly about Spock’s inability to take a break from work, but he and Jim both knew that to Spock, an aimless, thorough investigation of a new planet basically was a vacation.

“Amen to that,” Bones sighs, lowering his chin and turning fully back towards the shore. His gaze flicks over Jim’s shoulder, fond indulgence softening his grin for one split second, and then he purses his lips and glances over Jim from head to toe. “Just planning to stand there, Captain?”

“I’m not ‘just standing here’,” Jim protests. He gestures a hand, indicating Bones and the lake in general. “I’m appreciating the view.”

Bones narrows his eyes. With his hands still on his hips, it’s an even more intimidating expression than normal. “Would you quit that?”

Jim shrugs, smirking just a bit, and Bones huffs his annoyance before waving a hand in invitation. “Well, come enjoy it with your feet in the water; I can see you sweating from here.”

“Though similarly harmless to most humanoids, that substance is hardly water, Doctor,” Spock calls. They still, apparently, are well within range of his Vulcan hearing.

Bones turns his bright blue eyes to the sky, muttering something under his breath that Jim, at least, can’t catch. He laughs anyway, balancing himself on the yellow bark of the tall, thin, sparsely leafed tree on his right as he removes one boot and then the other. “You know he only corrects you because he cares, Bones.”

“He corrects me because he’s pathologically incapable of letting a fallacy pass without comment,” Bones retorts, taking a few splashing steps closer to shore to hold out a hand and help steady Jim on the step down into the lake. (The bank and its soft, mossy grass don’t transition smoothly into beach and then lake, instead crumbling into a small, foot high grey-blue cliff of clay.)

Jim grasps Bones’s hand with a smile that sparkles in his eyes, squeezing briefly and not letting go once he’s stepped down into cloudy pink. (Bones, as always, is right; he feels refreshed already.) “Nonetheless, he cares,” Jim says, soft but forceful, and the air is full of nothing but the gentle sound of the lake lapping against the shore.

Bones flushes red.

***

It’s hard to say what’s brought them to precisely this moment, after so many years of dancing around each other. Jim isn’t sure it matters, not when Bones’s jaw is cradled in his hands, when his fingers curl into the fabric over Jim’s chest as he sighs into the gentle kiss. The liquid of the lake splashes onto both of their pants as Jim presses recklessly closer, but that doesn't matter much either.

When they draw apart, Spock watches them from the shore with something not-quite-a-smile in his dark eyes, hands clasped behind his back and tricorder returned to its pouch on his hip. “I hope you’ll forgive me for refraining from joining you in the lake,” he remarks drily.

Bones’s eyes twinkle with mischief as he looks up at Jim from that scant inch between them. “Get Scotty to beam me down a decent glass of sweet tea and I might consider it.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you wanna give me some love on tumblr, you can find this fic [here](https://enterprisetrampstamp.tumblr.com/post/160108788527/heat-and-humidity)


End file.
